


[Drabble Collection] Inches Away

by Evenseven



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Also there's Elvish, Canon Compliant, Dom/sub Undertones, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Beta, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexual Content, Various Rating, more or less, things may get nasty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:22:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 3,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27301126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evenseven/pseuds/Evenseven
Summary: Legolas/Aragorn drabbles, should be less than 500 words each.Îdhthon ero mi i ‘ovod cînEd vinuial mâb i faergol nînI shall rest only in your embraceBefore the dawn take my sorrow away
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	1. Inches Away (PG)

Legolas was only inches away.

So Aragorn reached out a hand, feeling the numbness and cold spiking his fingertips. Fluid, burning, scarlet tangled with crystal shimmer. Was that the treacherous current, or his own blood?

Shaking, he found himself under the restraint of river, unable to escape. His shoulder and arms hurt, the ache in his head pushed and pulled his consciousness, compelling and exhausting. Memories like a distant dream flew back to him, between the promises he made to a lover and the haunting torment of self-doubt.

Rohan, warg attack, falling, pain.

A sensation he learned to get used to, like an old companion walking down every weary road with him. Aragorn struggled to breathe, drawing only water in his nose. More rushes of pain, before he realized everything was almost beyond his control.

It would be so easy to stop fighting, burying himself into the abyss and finally being free of destiny’s call. After years of sojourn and loneliness, he was offered a sweet taste of tranquility. If only he could close his fatigued eyes, there shall be no more restless night.

But he looked up to the hazy river surface, and Legolas was only inches away.


	2. Battle (PG)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff.

“What, in the name of Valar,” the blonde wood-elf drew a sharpe breath, “have you done to yourself?”

“Nothing.” The human replied with a stoic expression, pushing through his friend into the hallway as the torn flesh on his hands dripping a string of blood on the floor.

Legolas landed a gentle palm on his shoulder, then lowered it to capture his bloody hand. “Please, Estel, let me see your hand.”

A moment of resistance, then he gave up, twisting his wrist to display a puny creature with fluffy yet injured wings, a feathered friend bathing in Estel’s blood.

“I - I fought to save her,” the human flushed a little, somehow looking more embarrassed than ever, “I was going to heal her before showing it to you.”

The sweet creature gave a final flicker in the human’s palm, and the warm blood tinting his fingers was burning. Legolas could feel the hurt splitting his heart, yet he couldn’t help but smile.

“Estel, I think Eru has already taken her.”

“I’m sorry.” A quiet whisper reached his ears, a pair of grey eyes fell to the ground.

The elf wrapped his arms around Estel, pulled him into a gentle embrace. A gesture of consolation, yet he worried more about his friend’s ripped hand.“Come, I think you’re the one that needs healing.” With a closer look, he had a clearer view of a crimson gash lying in the side of Estel’s hand, and the bleeding hadn’t stopped.

The smile faded, replaced with a concerning frown. “What exactly did you fight against to save the bird?”

The human shrugged, “You would not wish to know.”

Utterance occluded in his throat, but Estel raised an unhurt hand to ease his brows. “Please don’t worry about me, Legolas, I’m fine.”

“I know,” he let out a sigh as he looked up at his stubborn human friend, “yet I’m afraid Lord Elrond would do me to death.”


	3. Scent (R)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any, this collection should be top!Leggy all the way.

“You smell like…” Mud. Legolas landed a kiss on the ranger’s bare shoulder blade. Soft lips apart, he murmured against Aragorn’s skin as he removing the last piece of worn garment of the ranger.

“You smell like…” Grass. The elf clutched his hands on Aragorn’s waist, the gentle kiss soon turned into a blazing graze, initiating something more fierce, more intimate.

“You smell like…” Sweat. Alien but vigorous, a scent Legolas only tasted before on the very same human under the mercy of his brutal thrust, burning away all the disquiet and terror along their journey.

You smell like me.


	4. Of No Use (PG)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild h/c.

He dreamed of the flame, licking, burning his eyes as he casted a final glance at his wizard friend. The heat almost devoured him, but they must make haste, and he had no time to grieve a close friend. The man with the kindest heart he had known since his youth, had fallen into the darkness and blaze.

He could force himself to urge the fellowship on their feet, to first run across the land to make sure its safety, and to be vigilant late at night with sharpening eyes fixed on the campfire. He would not allow himself to be at ease, not for a split moment, not even in the golden woods with Elven lament drifting in the misty air.

Wondering away from the tent, Aragorn sat by a large Mellon tree, contemplated for a moment in solitude. Before he could fall into the abyss of sorrow, he heard a soft Elven song full of sadness, a familiar voice came from the branches over his head.

_“Îdhthon ero mi i ‘ovod cîn_

_Ed vinuial mâb i faergol nîn”_

“’Tis of no use to sink into grief.” Aragorn heard his own voice, distant and almost numb, but not because of indifference, but of overwhelming remorse and ache.

The wood-elf landed beside him in a lightweight step, graceful as he always was, yet tonight, under the dim moonlight, Legolas’ pace were only one note too dense.

“I do not sink,” Legolas let out a sigh, heavy with melancholy but still Elvenly gentle, “I sing it for you, my friend.”

He lifted up his grey eyes, making all effort to conceal the weariness in them. “I grieve for a fallen friend, yet I do not let it hinder my strength.”

“I asked naught of your strength, Aragorn,” a sheer spark sprinting in the elf’s crystal blu eyes, “’Tis the shadow in your heart I wish to ease.”

At that, Aragorn proffered no dissent. Alluring as the golden woods and assertive as his solace to Boromir might be, he could not sleep.

“And what do you wish me to do, my Prince?”

“’Tis of no use to secrete your sorrow from me, Estel,” Legolas breathed, the young elf possessed the unutterable beauty as his smile radiating through the night, “Come, lay with my in my embrace. Here you shall find peace.”

And that would be an offer he could never decline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * S.
> 
> _Îdhthon ero mi i ‘ovod cîn  
>  Ed vinuial mâb i faergol nîn _
> 
> I shall rest only in your embrace  
> Before the dawn take my sorrow away


	5. Mark (R)

A hot tongue flicking on his bare chest, the elf found those dark fur more fascinating than all of the jewels laid deep inside palace of Mirkwood. The ranger’s breath shortened with the dance of his tongue, a nipple hardening, Estel’s back arching, the whole body aching for his heated kiss. 

Estel was always so responsive. Running an absentminded hand through his golden hair, the ranger bit back a low groan. But more and more was what he sought, Legolas could see it through his lusting, half-lid grey eyes.

“Mark me.” Out of a strangled breath, the ranger asked, more of an order than a pleading.

Soft lips brushing against the strong muscle, Legolas almost let out a laugh.

Maybe he should not indulge the young ranger, maybe he should teach him some manner, in the most tormented way. He could make him beg, scream, cry for pleasure or agony, ache for days just feeling his presence. Maybe, Estel would enjoy the lesson somehow, as Legolas certainly would.

The lesson could wait till the next time. So he decided, pleased by the moan of pain from the ranger as he bit down on the dark nipple, ever so forcefully.


	6. Hot Knife (NC-17)

Like a hot knife cutting through butter, Legolas pushed into the ranger with the most graceful motion. With unnamed lavender scent salve, the elf buried himself deep inside Aragorn and let out a satisfying sigh. He kept his hip steady, enjoying the sight while it lasted. The ranger beneath him enclosed those long legs around his back, ankles seised his slender waist in protest of his stillness.

Though without a word, Legolas could hear his pleading distinctly. The way he stared back at him with blasting grey eyes, the pink cheekbones shielding by dark locks at the sides, the air flew through his gasping lips, shimmering wet as he licked them over and over.

Legolas smiled at such view, but the grin was cut off by a sharp pain on his left thigh. The human ran a heated hand through the elvenly tender skin, fingernails scratched wickedly and left behind trails of crimson. 

“Hot knife cutting through butter,” the man casted him a sly glance, voice hoarse with evident desire emerging from under, gray eyes sparked daringly, “Elves all have such fragile skin…”

Legolas knew exactly what he sought, and he would be a fool to fall into this trap willingly. But he narrowed his eyes, “Estel, kindly remind me, just how many elves have you tried to graze their thighs?”

“Only the one wouldn’t proceed even when he’s balls deep inside me.”

“For the love of Eru,” Legolas bent down to kiss the eager ranger, “Are all humans so impatient?”

“Time is not on our side when rangers are on the road, and you wouldn’t know…” Aragorn grinned, caressing his hand down the elf’s bare thigh, fingers gripping firmly on his bent knees.

“Save your ranger tales,” Legolas panted, rocking his hip to take a forceful thrust, “You’ve been away from our realms long enough, Estel, I think you need an elven lesson.”

Whatever Legolas had planned was shattered and gone in a blink, he didn’t wait for more cheeky answer, but began to pull himself out only to ram all the way back in. This moment is priceless, Legolas had decided to carve this image forever in his mind, a whimpering ranger arching his strong back muscles, eyes fluttered shut in waves of pleasure.

Then he couldn’t think anymore, not when Aragorn begging to be claimed with lustful moans, not when he was clutching on Legolas’ hot shaft.


	7. Bent (R)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Dark, D/S undertone.

His will would not be bent by force, no matter how strong and vicious the blow of enemies might be, Aragorn would never surrender. Even in the lowest hour of his life, in the merciless hands of foul creatures, there was a ray of hope that held him up against the darkness. A shade of icy blue in the eyes of a certain Mirkwood elf, a shard of sweet memory that kept him linger to fight on. The pain was bearable when he thought of seeing that pair of blue eyes again, of holding Legolas in a warm embrace again.

His will would only be bent by love, his own affection and willingness to surrender himself to his beloved, no matter how tender and delightful his lover’s hands might feel. A gentle kiss could turn savage, a graceful grip could turn tenacious, his vision could turn dark, not of anguish despair but of lustful desperation. He would breathe the pleading no other being had ever heard, would ferret about the _good_ kind of pain that kept him grounded. He asked to be tended and the elf would deliver. Aragorn would eagerly bend for Legolas, in any day, at any time.


	8. Apology (PG)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm, movie-verse?

“Forgive me, my friend, I was wrong to despair.” 

Aragorn didn’t expect an apology like this after his short blow with Legolas in the arsenal, after all, the elf was right to doubt. They were fighting a suicidal battle, and it was only rational to question the effort. Aragorn had no right to ask Legolas to place the fate of men above his own safety, and he would never do so.

“There is nothing to be forgiven, _mellon nîn_ ,” He gave a dismissing wave with his already scarred hand, contemplated about his words for a moment, “I could never ask you to fight for us, for men of Rohan, for _mortals_.”

A frown emerged between the elf’s delicate brows, “If you would call me as your _mellon_ , you should say no more of this.”

“I speak of my heart,” Aragorn let out a soft sigh, focusing on buckling his belt a bit righter, “I could never ask you to make sacrifice for us, but I would sincerely appreciate your aid.”

“Estel,” there is an almost coldness in his voice when he breathed the name once so familiar, “I speak of my heart, too. And I say this one more time: I fight for you, no matter the cost, for you are my dearest friend, my… _Meleth nîn, le meru a avon feled naer._ ”

His lips twisted but he could not find a response to the confession. It was all he could dream of yet the honesty in those charming blue eyes made his heart ache more than ever. Mortality should be a foreign notion to the First Borns, yet Legolas was learning to carry the weight of vulnerability and death like him, _for_ him.

“If this is my end…” The man whispered, loud enough only for the elven sense to catch, with eyes casting down to his own hands.

“Speak no more of it!” Legolas urgently closed the gap between them, slim finger pressing onto his thin lips.

“If this is my end,” Aragorn insisted, wrapped his warm hand around the pale finger, grey eyes finally gazed into the elf’s ones with the tensity of decision and destiny, “then I would be honored to have you by my side.”

“I will always be at your side.” Legolas smiled, bringing his hand to brush away a dark lock by his face. It sounded more like a fact than an empty promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mellon nîn - my friend
> 
> Meleth nîn, le meru a avon feled naer. - My love, you are worthy and I will not regret.


	9. Reckless #1 (PG)

Elves were not supposed to be reckless. Gifted by Ilúvatar himself, they were ever more so graceful and elegant creatures, unaffected by the passing of winters and decaying of lives. Legolas had been told, long before he was permitted to step on the ground outside of the Mirkwood realm, that Elves were never reckless. Brave and vigorous, perhaps, but in every move they made and every breath they took, they did based on reasons and the rhythm of nature.

But wherever his Aragorn presented—his only human friend, the Adan boy in Imladris, the ranger, the king—his reasons all vanished in a haze. Aragorn was novel and dream-like, a forceful bearing he had never encountered with before. So Legolas felt the impulse to move, to run, to run towards him, to embrace him with equal roughness and tenderness, to breath in the same flourishing as him—as a human who could only live a life as short as a blink. Legolas needed not any reason, only a belief to ensure that all he had to do was to follow him into the darkness, to kiss him for every sweet dream, to make him whole again when he broke down. 

Consequence was inferior when he stood by Aragorn’s side, for there was a violent burst of enthusiasm inside his left chest, pushing him, haunting him to follow every dangerous path the stubborn human had chosen for himself. Walking with him among mortals or immortals, living or the Dead, Legolas had never felt so reckless before. No more Elven virtue, yet it was a blissful adventure, and no living nor dead could make him feel alive any more than his Estel.

Immortality was a curse, if it meant that he could never taste the passion of the man he loved.


	10. Reckless #2 (PG-13)

Humans were reckless, red-headed creatures that acted without considering consequences. Edain were made this way, so as Aragorn believed from a very young age when he was reading through leather-bond history books in Elrond’s library. The weakness was innate and flowed in his veins, every moment just like it did to all his forefathers and human fellows. So for all the time he remembered breathing, he resisted the recklessness in his blood, or had been attempting to do so. He was no longer the cheerful boy of Rivendell, and being a ranger still, he felt the rash moment sometimes, slipping through all his reasons and compelled him to act. Worst of it, at times he had no remorse at all.

Like the time he jumped in front of Legolas to take a hit from the blacked steel of orc blade, the horror in Legolas’ eyes haunted him more than any physical affliction. A sharp stab at his shoulder was no stronger than the stab inside his left chest, and the harder he lifted his injured arm, the more he imagined it could have hurt the Elf. Legolas visibly panicked, slender fingers shaking when they ran to catch him, to hold him in a secure embrace.

He acted to protect the one he loved out of instinct, so reckless and without thinking of consequences. The vice that tormented him all his life slipped through him so effortlessly, so dangerously.

Aragorn let out a sign, the Elf could scold him, call him a foolish Adan all he wanted, and he would not regret it a single bit. “I am weak,” though painful to admit, he puffed out a steady breath, “blame me, hurt me, for whatever pain I caused you, Legolas. But ask me not to refine, for I shall do it again if I must, before this long journey’s end.”

He couldn’t recall Legolas’ answer, or he forgot it deliberately, because no matter the retort he had received, he held no repentance for his heedless action. He did remember, though, later that night when Legolas laid beside him under the stars, all the gentle kisses that were pressed on his wounded shoulder.

“It does not hurt,” he remembered lying, smiling when he captured Legolas’ lips with his owns, “Stop crying, Elf, no need to grieve for me.” 

I shall be fine, as long as you are by my side.


	11. Command (NC-17)

“What,” he let out a gentle breath, smiling when he’s lips pressed onto the human’s taut shoulder, while his hand seizing a bit harder on his lover’s hard shaft, “is my King’s command?”

Grey eyes snapped open, shooting him a glance in disbelief as the cloudy orbs gradually came clearer. “Command?” Aragorn struggled to voice his thoughts, dry throat sounded hoarse and desperate, “you-how dare you ask for my command, prissy elf?”

It was not the answer Legolas wanted to hear, so he squeezed his fingers even tighter, forcing out another loud moan from the human. He paused for a second, not to sympathize with his agony, but to admire his lover—his Estel was more beautiful than ever: naked in bed, on all fours, sweating and shaking with desire, red-rimmed eyes turning back to look at him with silent pleading. A wave of possessiveness raged through his spine, sealing all of his elven grace away. After all, how many souls in the entire Middle Earth would know the lost king of Gondor could look so wanton?

Estel was breath-taking, and he was his, only his.

It had been an hour and Aragorn still couldn’t have his release. Legolas thrusted deeper into the human, relished every gasp that slipped out of those thin lips.

“If you would to follow my command,” Aragorn panted as he speeded up the brutal thrust, “I would have my release long ago!”

“Now, my dear King Elessar,” Legolas moaned in pleasure, pressing tender kisses to the honey skin, a gesture contradicted to the savage ramming of his hips, “I asked your command, never say I’d to follow.”

“You…” Eyes threw back, the King seemed to be oblivious about the enticing groans he was making. If it was another day, the stubborn human would make every effort possible to conceal the lustful whimpers, or at least try to until he gave in when Legolas murmured those passionate words to him.“You are torturing me…Legolas, _listo_!”

“Oh, I know I am,” he licked the human’s ear, round and reddened, “and you love it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listo - please


	12. Unreal (PG)

Aragorn opened his eyes and the world before him was unreal.

The huge window barely gapped, the first light of dayspring leaked through the glass wall and landed gracefully on the elf sitting by the window frame. The light felt crisp with a shadow of faint purple from the previous night, yet it warmed up Aragorn’s heart instantly as he saw Legolas smiled at him, icy blue eyes glimmered in affection. The elf prince showed no drowsiness even at the break of dawn, always so valiant, so vigorous, so achingly beautiful.

He was no novice in seeing elven glows, but never had he caught a sight so breath-taking. The elf advanced at him like the mellow spring sun, wearing a smile with half timidity, half seduction.

What kind of delightful dream was this? Because it couldn’t be real, he didn’t deserve to witness such elven glamour, not to mention being the recipient of this gaze so full of loving.

Until a gentle kiss was pressed on his lips, a pair of slender arms pulled him into an intimate embrace, his world was shattered again.

“Good morning, Estel.” Legolas breathed softly.

It was real, and it was more than fine.


End file.
